


The Color of Dawn

by Blacktwig



Series: Palingenesis [1]
Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Acceptance, And You Don't Even Care, Destiny, Emptiness, Fate, Gen, Internal Monologue, Lords of Cinder, Only the Wonder Makes You Real, Soliloquy, Spiritual, wonder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-26 19:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9917807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blacktwig/pseuds/Blacktwig
Summary: What is it that you are? Are you even real or the mere reflection of a sad, bitter world? You are thought to be the essence of those who have linked the fire through eons of time. Nothing more than a lifeless symbol of this decaying world. But might there be consciousness above all consciousness? And in the end, when the ashen one reaches the fire expecting to forge a fleeting future, what is he or she facing? Perhaps you are everything.Or maybe nothing at all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a little experiment. An urge I had as soon as I saw that Soul of Cinder was not a character in any fanfiction until now xD. This piece does not have a point or real direction, so it might seem as ramble. Completely disconnected from true storytelling. English is not my first language, so I don't expect to have achieved perfect grammar. And yet, I do hope the the story is legible regardless. Anyway, thank you so much for reading!

_...do you know what is the color of dawn?_

When I look into the visage where your eyes should be, what am I supposed to see? and when I hear that ethereal, echoing voice that somehow grows from a pained throat that only mutters anything while in pain and then alone, what am I supposed to hear? Should I be seeing that fleeting flame, eternally linked by fearful lords that trembled before the prospect of dark more than that of death itself? Should I be hearing the requiem of those who suffered atrocious, alleged heroic defeats for the sake of a vague, unclear destiny?

Above this frozen land, the kiln of the first flame, where the forgotten lands slowly fade and converge while flowers honor the burial of the undead, the silence surrounding the space where you lay is no less surreal than yourself. I take a look at you and know what I am supposed to believe, what I am supposed to see and hear, but when I actually see I cannot help but think how your mere existence mocks the meaning everybody wanted to give to this dance of light and dark. It is funny and ironic at the same time.

They tell me you are the amalgam of all of those who have linked the fire until now, but you are less simple than that. You are less, and more, for your consciousness is above them all. Perhaps if I ask you, you will know the truth.

Soul of Cinder...

Born from the fire and strengthened by the fire, given purpose by the fire, you probably know more than anyone else what is the true meaning of light and dark. You see the flame differently, for you do not wish to give it a purpose, being it what actually gives meaning to you. And so intently you guard it when nothing else is around, sitting still like fearing it will fade on its own. You were born from it's core like the experiment of this decaying world, and thus no one knows the fire like you do. Do you not despise it as the symbolism of everything that made this a forsaken world? Do you even know what it means to all of us?

I know you do. And yet, were you built to care at all? do you even know what everybody knew and fear like lord Gwyn did? Is your silence emptiness or conceit?

Soul of Cinder...

When fire appeared for the first time, those who lived in the age of ancients discovered the meaning of light. The once foggy, hidden horizons before them became clear and idyllic, something bright and known. They saw the light and saw strength, a reason to believe, write stories from their point of view and conquer a world not made for their own. They fought and claimed the lands of the dragons, built their kingdoms in the ashes of the ones that had lost, using the strength of fire and the souls of the lords that fate brought to their hands somehow. And what gracious, honorable fate those who discovered the souls of lords brought to our fragile kin, did they not? because they let us meet reason and purpose, honor and even the sun itself, for it was never strong enough to show the path for the blinded ones. But they fought valiantly, and they won. They won, and gave us light for generations to come. For the first time they saw... they discovered the color of dawn.

Little did they know that like dawn and noon, there is also sunset and night. But they did not see it then, and for so long... for way too long, they have refused to believe, for it is natural for us to believe in everlasting joy. I know though, that there are many that embrace the dark as the natural order, as a natural change from an age that has been going on for way too long. Their views are fresh, new and sensible, but embrace such a future in a glorious tone despite knowing that they are betting on the unknown. In the end though it all points to that only thing; like dragons fell when their age finished, so will we fall when the fire extinguishes completely. We have seen it, we have experienced it, over and over again but of course, we don't want it to end. In the end though, we can only wonder and struggle and die and be reborn in one way or another, for until the fire is put to rest, we will not be put to rest. And here you are! when it seemed as if finally the lords of cinder were no more, fate brought you and continued mocking the very existence of the fallen ones that eventually became the unkindled. Capricious fire that clinged to fear, illusions and light like the first sinner did. So they were, so is the fire, and so are you.

You are such a despicable thing. But... I do want to believe.

So little we are, so fragile and unwise. We fear, we suffer and are unable to look beyond us. But you... in you are the souls of many, of their lives, of their sadness, hopes and sacrifices. You know of the rise of Gwyn and his eventual demise, you follow the lines of those who knew nothing and of those who wanted to rebuild shackled remains. I have lived so little, and know so little. I hear stories that feel unreal. I lived my short life in this decayed reality and have known nothing but fall. I have only seen Lothric crumble and the world shift into something unknown, something dark, and there is only fear rising in the very core of my being. When I look at you I see nothing but my own desperation, nothing but despair knowing that even if anybody does his or her best to break this cycle of madness, it will continue some other time in the future. But also... you know that, do you? You are the one who holds the souls of heroes deep into your heart and see every new flower that raises on this kiln for every forgotten soul, and thus you know exactly what I am talking about. Why... why is then your presence so serene?

Are you really... not a conscience on your own? That cannot be.

Perhaps I just think too much. Perhaps I just see what I should not see, and hear what I should not hear. But in a barren, forgotten world, do rules and expectations have a meaning anymore? I could push towards an empty future, perpetuating the illusion that we still own this world holding on a supposedly everlasting light, being conscious of the fact that if I did I would not feel so forlorn. If I just followed what so many did and in the end... become a part of you, I would probably die feeling victorious like others did. I would see the sun again... rising from the horizon... maybe I would finally know what the color of dawn is. If I simply broke into your defenses and struck you, the emanation of the desperation of a flame that does not want to be forgotten, then the only fear plaguing me would be the fear of death. But again... you are everything! you are everyone! and you do not seem to suffer like me. You seem hollow but sane, empty but whole. Is it because even though you know how hopeless this is, there is stronger will in knowing what the color of dawn is?

Perhaps...

Perhaps you yourself are the color of dawn?

I get close to you, but you do not fight me, for I am not the unkindled that seized the souls of the lords. I am not but an intruder, someone who does not belong. You know and thus you stay so kept and serene like no one else will ever be. I am not a lord or a hero or anything at all, not even strong enough to lit the fire on my own, and thus I mean nothing to you. I like to believe such a thing, for thinking that you don't even hear me is such an uncomfortable thought. I may just ramble to nothingness because I want to feel and understand more than what I am supposed to, more than what is written for me, even though knowing instead of believing in the illusion that everybody builds after being blinded once again because of such bright fire is painful, not resolute. But endless questions pop up in my mind and when I see you I know... I simply know that if there is someone who knows the answers is you, and if I ever have the opportunity to know the meaning of hope and the color of dawn, is through you.

And you won't ever speak a single word.

I remain returning to this place each day. I have nothing to reach for, anyway. Perhaps one day I will come, and you won't be here. I do not know. But if someone kills you, what will become of the memories of those who are part of you? will they simply disappear? will they be nothing at all? Even if someone links the fire again, these people nowadays do not even know what hope is, for it was lost through eons of struggle. The meaning... the color of dawn, will it be forgotten?

...

Tomorrow I will return, wondering the same things. I will tell you again the same thing you already know; maybe a bit of myself. You will sit there as always, but bring a strange relief to my soul. Maybe I just want to talk; I do not know. But it does not matter to you, and it will not matter to one who does not have anything to live for, since this person does not have the strength of a lord; the only thing you are looking forward to. I hope though, that I will fade before than you. And so I turn my back to you, expecting something on each step, maybe a sword in my throat, maybe magic shattering my weak soul. Yet I receive nothing but a silence so deep, so heavy, and still so easily torn to pieces.

"Such is the col'r of thy soul."

A whisper on my back, even though void governed seconds before. A whisper that echoed on the walls of nothingness. So many voices fused together in a warm arpeggio, creating a whole new melody on its own, for you were born from the cinders of many, but so was I, born from the ashes of stars. That was when my heart sunk, to a depth far beyond.

**Author's Note:**

> Just to point out, the narrator of this story... is no one really. It can be an npc, a monster, an oc, the author or the reader; it can be whatever you see fit. If you reached this... thank you again. I hope you enjoyed reading!


End file.
